


Your Heart Within Me

by howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Pining, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1488217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenleaf/pseuds/howl-to-the-wind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek thought all he lost were memories.</p>
<p>He didn’t know he lost more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart Within Me

**Author's Note:**

> I’m actually surprised I wrote this considering amnesia!Sterek is not really my taste, because reading it always, always gives me the worst hurts. I read a couple of them until one made me cry and I’ve never tried it again. So yeaaahhh, I hope I didn’t butcher it. Also, I know nothing about amnesia. This is all just based on my feels.
> 
> I didn’t know which timeline to put this in. I was tempted to go post-3a, but I was hesitant to add in Stiles’ ‘darkness’ to the mix because I might not handle it well alongside the amnesia. So let’s just consider this an alternate timeline or something. I guess.
> 
> Comments and kudos-es are always appreciated.

Derek noticed Stiles watching him sometimes, not just sometimes really, but a lot of the time. His eyes would narrow, a deep furrow appearing between his eyebrows, his thin lips would press together into a thinner line, and one hand would rub against his chest, as if he was actively stopping himself from saying or doing something.

It confused him.

But at the same time, it was probably warranted. There was probably something Stiles wanted to say or do that Derek wouldn’t understand now.

_Now._

Scott was the one who had told him about it, the Aberdeen Explosion. The Hale pack had lent their assistance to the Melendez pack in nearby Aberdeen which became overrun with witches. The Ridge Coven consisted of close to twenty witches and attacked the Melendez pack after one of their betas killed one of their witches. The beta’s act was undoubtedly in self-defense because the Ridge Coven was known for its penchant for violence and misdemeanor, but the Coven still took it as a reason to rain hell on the pack and the town.

The fight lasted almost a week, only coming to an end when, on the early morning hour of the seventh day, the Coven’s leader, Markena, was finally pinned to the ground by Alpha Karina Melendez and Alpha Derek Hale. Markena did not want to surrender peacefully though, opting to take everyone with her. The resulting explosion rocked the entire town to its knees.

There were casualties on both sides. The Melendez pack lost three of theirs, a beta, a human, and their Alpha. The Hale pack half-lost their Alpha. Because Derek was still there, still blessedly alive, but missing the past two and a half years of his life.

Derek thought all he lost were memories.

He didn’t know he lost more than that.

-

Nobody could say Stiles wasn’t smart. The moment Derek had opened his eyes, looked at Stiles’ tight grip on his hand in confusion, pulled his hand away, and looked at him that way, Stiles immediately knew.

He knew.

That right there and then things would never be the same.

It was all too easy to slip away, letting everyone else do the talking and worrying and crying.

Stiles ran.

He was systematic, quick, thorough, rushing into the house with single-minded focus. His clothes were ripped from hangers and stuffed into bags, his personal effects thrown into a carry-on or just went straight to the trash, the bed covers and pillow cases tinged with the scent of two people dragged off to the laundry, the incriminating pictures removed from tables and walls, windows and doors thrown open and rooms sprayed to a nauseating degree removed any mingling and intimate scents, throwing every notable and incriminating thing into either a bag or the trash and putting the rest in the abandoned guest room that was once, so long ago, his supposed room.

Nobody could say Stiles wasn’t a quick decision-maker, and an even quicker doer.

Lastly, Stiles found one of his chain necklaces, slipping off the dog tags hanging from them and replaced them with two silver bands.

By the time Derek moved back in, there were no more traces of _Stiles &Derek_. Just Stiles. Just Derek.

-

Derek had little interest in retrieving his old memories. The last thing he remembered was that he had a pack, was the Alpha of the pack, and things were peaceful in a way it hadn’t been since so very long ago when Derek was still being chased by the thoughts of his deceased family.

He didn’t need any more memories.

In the next few weeks, he was reintroduced to the people he already knew or should know and the places and things around him. There was his pack, easy enough to recognize despite the way he and his wolf whined at the (supposedly) sudden changes they’ve endured in the two and a half year gap in his head.

Like how most of them had graduated by now when last he remembered they were still in the throes of college exams.

Like how Boyd and Erica now owned the Camaro, despite how Derek remembered thinking that he wouldn’t give up his car to anyone. It felt right though, like he and his wolf had made this decision without fuss. He asked them about it though, how it came to be in their possession, and they both had said certain events, _certain people_ , made him change his mind. He didn’t know what to say to that.

Like how Scott and Allison had parted ways amicably, the former coming together with Kira and the latter with Isaac. Derek knew Kira, had her in his life prior to the gap in his memory, but she wasn’t pack then, not yet, still bordering on the edge of being their friend and comrade but not yet pack. The same goes for Danny, whose addition he last remembered was still being debated about.

And Derek could see and smell the hurt from Kira and Danny at their Alpha’s lukewarm reception of them as he and his wolf still err on the side of caution because of a bond they could still _feel_ but not _know_.

Like how Melissa and John were married now and living together at the Stilinski house. It had been a simple wedding at the sprawling Hale backyard, with everyone in their best dresses, and just the pack and some close friends from the police station and the hospital.

Like how Jackson and Lydia were now engaged, the first in the pack. Or was it the second? When he had asked, the pack had a minor disagreement about it. Derek was confused until Stiles had resolutely spoken over everyone else.

“The first engagement in the pack,” Stiles had said, one hand pressed against his chest. And that was that.

Like how cluttered and homey and full of life the Hale house now was. His last memory of the place was that while it was fully furnished, everyone was just starting work on personalizing their rooms and every nook and cranny of the sprawling mansion. It gave him a pleased-odd kind of feeling to see the changes, a sense of familiarity always lingering at the back of his mind as he looked around.

Derek had little interest in retrieving his old memories. At first. In the end he and his wolf couldn’t help looking for more. Especially when he realized that with all that had changed, there was something that (in his head) had stayed the same.

Stiles was still alone.

-

Stiles stayed in the guest bedroom now, where he had hidden away some of his things and some of _Stiles &Derek_’s things. It pained him to be there, to hide among the possessions they shared and live the memories of who he used to be when he was more than just Stiles, to remember what it’s like to be complete.

Derek was out about town with Erica, Isaac, and Kira, reintroducing the Alpha to the town when someone knocked on his door. Stiles always kept his room locked now. He couldn’t have Derek seeing what was inside.

It was Scott.

Stiles laid back down on the bed as his best friend closed the door behind him, making sure it was locked. Scott sat down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, one hand in Stiles’ hair.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” Scott asked.

Stiles pressed his palm to the rings hidden under the two layers of shirts he had on, all the better to hide them.

“You know why I can’t.”

Scott let out a huff, both of frustration and understanding. “Deaton said his memories might come back. There’s nothing wrong with–”

“Scott, I know magic,” Stiles said gently. “I know it. I study it. And I know that this is more than just some spellwork that we wait out until it ran its course, more than just something we could reverse. Markena killed herself, Scott, and she tried to bring everyone with her. Karina Melendez died. By all means, Derek should have…” he ignored the heaviness in his chest, “He should have died too. Instead, he’s here. He’s alive. There are only two ways it could go. Either his memory died or it’s still healing. If it died, well…” He looked away, taking a breath. Scott’s hand rubbed his head in comfort. “If it is still healing, it would take him the same length of time he lost to get the memories back, maybe longer. It depends.”

Scott’s free fist curled around his knee. “So we have to wait around two and a half years or something to see which is which?”

Stiles nodded. He sat up, gently disentangling Scott’s hand in his hair. He pulled out the rings, _their_ rings, from under his shirt and held them tight, fighting the urge to break down.

“Derek lost the last two and a half years of his life, Scott. In that time, it took me and Derek a year to get our heads out of our asses and even consider being together. At this point, I’m not even an option yet. Maybe I will, one day, but not now. And I can’t do that to him, Scott. I can’t force him.”

He looked at Scott, eyes pleading, trying to get him to understand.

Because the thing was, Stiles knew Derek. He knew the way their relationship went. How it went far deeper than a year of escalating sexual tension before it bubbled over into the unescapable. It was a year where they spent more time hurting one another, hurting themselves, confused and aroused and wanting and hating in equal measures. It was the hardest and most painful year of Stiles’ life, one he did not want to happen again and one he would not force Derek, _ever_ , to relive.

That’s probably why this hurt more than it ever could because he and Derek were _happy_. They were _in love_ and _together_ after all that hurt.

But Stiles would be strong through this.

He had to be.

So by necessity, a lot of things had to change. No more leaving Stiles and Derek alone in one room or letting them sit together. No one was allowed in Stiles’ room anymore, for fear of Derek seeing their shared things. No one was allowed to say anything to Derek about their relationship, and Stiles all but pleaded to the pack to cover one another if anyone did slip.

Stiles all but pleaded the pack to just _forget_ , the same way Derek had.

He could sense Derek’s confusion though, know that Derek and his wolf could sense an awkwardness with how his pack moved. But nobody could say Stiles wasn’t the master of deflection.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles called out, trying to quell the confusion on Derek’s face at how Allison so obviously hesitated before sitting down beside him on the loveseat they all knew was not really meant for her. “Since you’ve got amnesia and all, does that mean you don’t remember any of the movies from the past two and a half years? We should watch them and spoil them for you.”

Stiles waggled his eyebrows teasingly. They all knew Derek hated spoilers with a passion.

Derek growled at him, a lot more annoyed than he had ever been with Stiles during the course of their relationship. And Stiles was almost surprised at how much it _cut_ him inside.

“It’s good to know you’re taking some enjoyment from my problems, Stilinski.” Derek turned away from him.

“Of course, I do. It’s like you don’t know me at all, Derek.” Stiles grinned through the pain, through the comforting press of Danny’s elbow against his, through the knowing looks the packs gave him.

-

Derek knew that this wouldn’t be easy. Nobody could just come out of an amnesia not feeling like their entire world was tilted on its axis, so familiar but not at the same time.

Amnesia left him in some form of limbo, struggling with muscle memory, learned movements, and his wolf’s instinct so at odds with what his mind irrevocably _knew_. How he would always sleep on the left side of the bed because he couldn’t fathom the uneasiness of his wolf when he even so much as touched the right side, but how he would wake up, always an arm or a leg stretched across him, as if reaching for something he couldn’t find. How he would open the second drawer, always, even though his clothes were on the first. How his closet looked empty even if it was filled with his clothes, how his nightstand felt bereft of personal items, how his entire house felt empty. How he would move with a phantom presence in the back of his mind.

He didn’t understand his own behavior. He didn’t understand his own wolf. And that terrified him.

He could see it terrified everyone else too, could see his own pack still walking on eggshells around him, and it hurt something inside him, hurt the bond that he could _feel_ but couldn’t understand how it came to be. And it pained him even more when he could smell the clear scent of loss in the air.

But for all of the confusion and complication, there was one thing that was surprisingly easy. And that was Stiles.

Stiles had always been a constant in his life, still a magnetizing force he couldn’t help orbiting around even before the timeline in his cracked memories. He was like an automatic in Derek’s life. When Derek moved, when he talked, even when he _breathed_ , it was like an automatic response to Stiles’ everything.

He could remember his feelings towards the boy, that sense of growing fondness mixed with irritation, and Derek could only assume that it probably blossomed into friendship in the past years.

Funny. He never ever thought he could actually be _friends_ with Stiles.

He found himself moving by default though. Mornings where he would immediately gravitate to Stiles as he manned the kitchen, would stand close to him, far closer than was polite, would seek him out in a room as soon as he walked in, would touch him unconsciously, a hand on his back, on his shoulder, curled around his elbow, fingers brushing the back of his neck.

The first few times he did it, Stiles would stop, would drop anything he was doing or holding, at one point even the hot pot of soup he was carrying to the dining room. He would look at Derek, really _look_ , his amber eyes shining and flickering with something like hope and joy, before it would dull and darken once Derek met his gaze. He would untangle himself from Derek then, make some smooth and easy offhanded comment about how clumsy he was, before leaving Derek behind, leaving Derek and his wolf whining at something, a _feeling_ inside them they couldn’t understand.

Derek eventually realized it was more than just about retrieving old memories, as it was to also retrieve old feelings. That was what set his wolf on edge, who by now was relying more on instinct to fill in the gaps.

And that’s when he started to doubt, to see that the scent of loss from his pack swirled not really around himself, but on someone else, someone like Stiles.

-

The debate on telling Derek the truth was always ongoing. While everybody fully understood that it was Stiles’ decision, that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own opinions. Scott, Erica, Jackson, and Isaac, while supportive of Stiles’ decision, wanted to tell Derek because they knew how much Stiles was hurting right now and they desired to see their Alpha back to the way he was before.

Allison, Boyd, and Lydia didn’t agree, because while they didn’t like hurting Stiles, they knew Derek well enough to know that such an immense thing could affect him severely. Danny and Kira sided with Stiles. They could empathize with his predicament after seeing the way Derek now acted around them, as if unable to believe they were part of his pack and thus making it even more difficult to make a connection.

The debates became all the more heated in the following weeks when the pack noticed Derek’s increasing confusion and frustration at how naturally he moved around Stiles, and their wolves could sense the Alpha’s wolf growing stressed and distressed at everything.

So Stiles did the only thing he could and ran.

He made sure the guest bedroom was locked, rubbing mountain ash on the doorframe to keep the wolves out, before lugging his bag and leaving the house.

His Dad and Melissa didn’t seem surprised when he knocked at their door.

He smiled at Melissa in thanks when she placed the warm mug in front of him, wrapping his cold hands around it.

His Dad placed a hand on his arm. “Derek still loves you, son. His head might have forgotten, but not his heart, not his instincts, not his body.”

Stiles all but crumbled. “How can he love me when he’s not even _him_ , Dad? This isn’t him! And I can’t…” He broke down. “I can’t. I can’t. I just can’t. I love him so fucking much and it _kills_ me that he doesn’t even remember.”

Stiles broke down, weeping for a love he used to have. His body shook, his chest ached, and he felt like he was drowning under the _need_ and _want_ that had nowhere to go. All he could do was sink into his father’s arms, clutching the silver rings to his chest, a reminder of how he lost the most important person in his life.

None of the pack called him out on his move back to the Stilinski-McCall house. Stiles still constantly visited the Hale house anyway, looking after the pack and spending time with them, baiting and bantering with Derek with a familiar ease that thrilled yet pained him because he could see how easily and quickly Derek responded to him, the push and pull and chemistry that defined their relationship, the precursor to the amazing things they could do, _had done_.

But Stiles stayed silent and waiting, battering down any flicker of hope.

-

Derek looked around, familiarity ringing through him in the remains of band posters and pictures, glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling, the starry-blue covers on the bed, the subtle scent of home and Stiles. He closed his eyes, could remember the times he’s been in Stiles’ childhood room, crawling in through the window with or without permission, lying on the unmade bed, and easily engaging in the rapid-fire Q&A and riding the insult-train with Stiles, and the…

Derek heard the door creak open and the sharp intake of breath that came after. Only then did he open his eyes.

“…Derek?”

Stiles eyes, wide and open, were now shocked and… and searching. Stiles was always looking for something, looking for something _in_ Derek that Derek didn’t understood. And he could see the way that something, that missing link, always made Stiles look away.

“Is… is everything all right?” Stiles asked, slowly making his way into his room. “I was going to the Hale house later after I changed.”

Derek looked around the room and he heard Stiles’ breath and heartbeat stutter.

Derek was far from an idiot. He could see it. He could see Stiles. He could see how the passing months have made him sadder, quieter, more distant, his repartee and sarcasm more biting than fun, and more often resorting to childish banter. It made Derek and his wolf uneasy. He trusted Stiles, no question about that, but for some reason Derek could see them flitting about on the edge of friendship and… and something _more_.

But he didn’t know what.

“What have I forgotten?” Derek asked.

Stiles’ heart became louder, the acrid scent of despair spreading in the air, but the smile on his face was jaunty and nonchalant in equal measures.

“Nothing important that you have to worry about, Derek. Any reason you’re asking?” He went to his desk, putting away his bag and books and shrugging off his jacket. “And besides, don’t you think the pack would have told you if you did? So chill your eyebrow game, wolfie. I’ll get changed and make us a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches before we–”

But there was something important. Derek and his wolf knew it. And it made them feel agitated, angry, snappish.

_Lies. Lies._

Derek was grabbing for Stiles before he even realized it.

Stiles yelped as he was pushed against the wall, legs flailing as he realized he could only stand on his tiptoes as Derek’s hands on the front of his shirt pressed him high against the wall.

“Dude! What the fuck is your problem?” Stiles snarled, anger vibrating from every pore making his face flush red all the way down to the vee of his shirt.

Derek’s wolf let out a growl of lust so strong, it blindsided Derek with how it came out of nowhere.

“DEREK! LET GO OF ME!” Stiles shouted, clawing at the hands.

“Tell me.”

Stiles fell limp, like his strings were cut. He closed his eyes tight and Derek ducked down close. The smell of _defeat_ and the _pain_ lining his face made Derek’s chest seize with emotions.

“I want to know. I need to know. Tell me,” he choked out, a panic settling in his head of _wanttoknow Stileshurt confusedangrypanic Stilesinpain StilesStilesStiles_. Derek let out a shaky breath. “Stiles. Please.”

Stiles’ eyes flew open and next thing Derek knew Stiles was kissing him, one hand curled around the back of his neck as he pressed their lips and faces together. And Derek he… he found himself kissing back. They oriented themselves to one another seamlessly, heads and lips and tongues moving in a steady rhythm, hands roaming and touching and caressing in a fluidity that spoke of familiarity. Stiles’ scent filled his nose, earthy with a hint of cinnamon and the smell of _home_ , and his taste burst into Derek’s mouth in a mix of soda and the mint candy he kept in his backpack that he liked to suck, something that Derek knew but _didn’t, shouldn’t_. His body fit neatly against Derek’s, his large palms stroking Derek’s cheek and his thumb skirting under that jut in Derek’s chin that was always ticklish. It was easy and warm and _right_ , like they had done this an infinite number of times before.

An infinite number of times that Derek could not remember.

Derek was across the room in the blink of an eye, his face warm, his lips tingling, the spicy scent of arousal from _both_ of them already hanging in the air. His wolf was already batting his insides with the need to _go back_ and _be closer_ , while his head was swirling with thoughts of how and why and what.

Stiles looked just as rattled under the horror that shone in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Derek,” he choked out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

“But I’m not with you,” Derek said, the words coming out in a snarl. “I’m not in love with you.”

Stiles looked hurt, sad, broken. And Derek threw himself out the window.

-

Stiles never went back to the Hale house after that. He couldn’t. He still visited the pack when they were out of the house or made plans with them, but most of the time he spent his days alone, hiding at his father’s home or at the college where he taught as a professor. He stayed out of Derek’s sight and out of his way.

He hated himself for what he had done, for letting himself get caught up in the moment, for taking what he shouldn’t, because now he had given Derek an ultimatum, something he swore never to do. Damn his feelings but he could not, _would never_ , be selfish. Not when it’s Derek on the line.

But now he ruined it.

Life went by, days passed, and Stiles watched every fragment of hope die.

-

Derek spent his time at the house, curled up in his room on the left side of his bed, now realizing just why that was so. He took in everything in his room differently now, the difference between his second drawer versus the first drawer that was always meant for someone else, the plaid and band shirts and jeans that weren’t hanging or folded or mixed in with his clothes, the ghosts of missing books and DVDs and pictures and missing, so many things missing in his room, in his living room, in his entire house, in his life.

His wolf was clawing at his insides, wanting to go back, to _go home_.

But Derek held back, curled into himself, and ached with the memories he couldn’t get back.

-

It still amazed Stiles sometimes, the way his pack worked. After years of them failing and losing, it was breathtaking to see the ease with which they handled the troubles that still plagued their little town. It wasn’t without its casualties of course, but now they knew better than to just jump in and any scrapes, stabs, scratches were usually nothing life-threatening.

Stiles could now justify the supposed rivalry of vampires and werewolves because some vampires were a bitch to deal with. He’s met a few nice ones, like the hippy-vamp who preferred macramé to biting people left and right, but the rest of them were a giant pain in the asses.

Erica had an arm around Stiles’ waist, helping him limp his way into the Hale house. Erica had a gash on her back that was taking its sweet time to heal, while Stiles ended up with a wound on his thigh when he was trying to get a vampire from getting to any part of his anatomy. Damn them vampires.

As soon as Erica set Stiles down on the couch, he took a quick inventory of everyone on hand, something he had always done.

Kira and Scott had multiple bruises, but nothing bleeding. Isaac had blood on his temple, more from his impact against a tree than a vamp and was probably healed by now. Danny had a sprained wrist. Boyd had a still-healing cut on his neck and abdomen. Lydia was uninjured, but was messy from head to toe. Jackson, who had taken the brunt of any threats on Lydia’s person, had a gash on his forearm. Allison was the only one close to composed and spotless, having served as their long-range hitter with her bow.

Derek was the last to come in, with a cut spanning from chest to abdomen, shallow enough not to be hit any organs but deep enough to bleed. Stiles knew it would heal in a matter of hours, minutes if it weren’t damn vampires, but he couldn’t help the worry erupting in his chest at seeing Derek wounded.

Allison was quick to gather all the first-aid kits and everyone automatically paired off, save for the Lydia-Jackson-Danny trio, to patch up bruises and wounds.

Stiles met Derek’s eye across the room. So far, he and Derek had yet to acknowledge what had happened between them. He knew the best thing to do was to act as though nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t kissed, as if they didn’t keep thinking about it, and as if they didn’t know that the other person kept thinking about it too. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny the charged air between them, the fact that they both already knew there was something between them.

Derek approached him, his face careful and controlled. Stiles simply set about pulling out the gauze and antiseptic wipes, willing himself to calm.

Derek sat down next to Stiles on the couch and immediately, everyone in the room tensed. Stiles had to hold back a snort of disbelief. Now everyone remembered the rule of not leaving him and Derek together.

Stiles ignored them and the silent panic hanging in the air on how to separate the two of them. He simply pushed Derek to recline onto the couch and took the wipes and the gauze and set about cleaning the blood off of Derek’s body, his heart hurting a little at the sight of Derek injured, no matter how mild. He wrapped Derek’s torso easily, unable to help the sigh of relief that came at seeing Derek patched up and safe.

Stiles packed up the kit, ready to limp his way to the bathroom to get his pants off and leg patched, when he felt Derek’s hand on the small of his back.

“Come on,” he said, voice soft and undemanding.

The tension in the room set to a low simmer as everyone side-eyed them.

Stiles almost thought of declining, almost, but he stroked the rings hidden safely under his thankfully intact shirt and figured there was no use delaying the inevitable. He nodded, letting Derek wrap an arm around his waist and led him to the bathroom.

Derek closed the door behind them, affording them the illusion of privacy despite knowing how intently the entire pack was listening in on them.

They moved easily, Derek with a hand on Stiles’ arm as Stiles slid off his pants, hissing when the denim caught onto the cut on his thigh. He lifted his boxers a little, frowning at the diagonal line that ran from inner thigh down to just above his knee. Derek set him down on the closed lid of the toilet and kneeled between Stiles’ open legs with the first-aid kit.

Derek’s hands was warm and large and familiar against his skin and Stiles looked away, unable to quell the unwanted but automatic scent of light arousal that he was undoubtedly sending Derek’s way. Derek thankfully didn’t comment on it as he wiped the wound, careful and sure.

“You did good today,” Stiles said softly to fill the silence. “I know it’s your first mess since your…” he swallowed, “since your amnesia, but you handled it well. I know the pack’s proud of you.”

“It was instinct mostly,” Derek said, shrugging a shoulder.

“You still did pretty well,” Stiles pressed.

He was pleased at the small uptick of Derek’s lips.

Derek worked quick but careful, never touching Stiles more than necessary but never deliberately hurting him as he patched up his wound. Derek nodded when he was done and Stiles looked down at the neat square patch covering his skin. Derek was holding onto his knee, thumb rubbing the skin in a way that didn’t look to be conscious.

“Thanks,” Stiles said.

He waited, but Derek didn’t move away.

“Stiles,” Derek started, looking up at him, eyes dark and troubled like a stormy sea. “I’m sorr–”

Stiles’ reply was immediate. “Don’t, Derek. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

And that was true. It wasn’t Derek’s fault that he couldn’t remember, the same way it wasn’t Stiles’ fault that he was left to remember for the both of them. It wasn’t Derek’s fault he was hurting Stiles unknowingly, the same way Stiles was not at fault for his emotions.

Derek kept seated, both hands coming up to cup Stiles’ knees this time. Stiles was tempted to move back, to move away, but Derek’s worried and cautious gaze had him pinned in place.

“How long were _we_ …” Derek paused, jaw clenching a little as he used that word, acknowledged the truth. “How long were we together?”

Were.

Stiles took a shaky breath. “A year and eight months until the Aberdeen explosion,” he replied softly, unable to offer anything than honesty.

Derek nodded slowly, face scrunching up as he thought hard.

“How did you… the house… I didn’t have a clue…”

Stiles couldn’t help snorting. “I’m a lot smarter than you give me credit for, Derek. I’ve lived with you werewolves forever. I know how to hide.” He shrugged, voice softening as he looked away. “I know it would have been hard for you so I decided to leave.”

Derek looked at him, an awed expression crossing his face. “You loved me.”

Stiles gave him a weak smile. “I do, Derek. I _love_ you.”

“And I… I loved you, too.”

Loved.

“Yes,” Stiles whispered. “You don’t say it much but I know. I knew.”

Distress crossed Derek’s face and his hold on Stiles’ knees tightened. “I don’t… I can’t… I… Stiles, I–”

Stiles placed his hands over Derek’s, thumbs rubbing to loosen their hold. “There’s nothing else to say, Derek. Like I said, it’s no one’s fault.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t… I just can’t help missing you but I…” He shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’s all right. We’re all right.”

Because no they weren’t. They weren’t all right. Or at least, Stiles wasn’t. But he would never, ever make this hard for Derek so he gave him a smile, despite feeling how it didn’t sit quite right on his face.

Stiles could feel the silver rings like hot brands against his skin.

“We’re all right.”

Stiles didn’t believe it and Derek looked like he didn’t believe it either.

-

A person’s past will always define him. Derek was the prime example of that, from the bitter, angry, foolish young man that he was during the darker days of his sordid past and the (he supposed) happier, well-adjusted, settled man he became after the formation and growth of his pack and… and his apparent relationship with Stiles. But that man was gone now. Derek had nothing to look back on, forced to live his days with a chip in the timeline of his life that affected everything that went before and after it.

There was no doubt that the pack had eavesdropped on that conversation and now that they knew Derek was aware of exactly what was missing in the bigger picture, they started telling Derek about everything, half-remembered stories that he seemed to _know_ but couldn’t quite grasp.

Some were willing and enthusiastic, like Scott and Isaac, who told him stories of happier times with the entire pack out running, having barbeques in the Hale backyard, taking road trips to one another’s colleges, and, Erica and Jackson added with a smirk, Derek and Stiles always off in their own little world with groping hands bordering on public indecency no matter where they were.

Others were tightlipped. Danny and Kira gently steered away from those conversations, even when Derek asked about the nature of his relationship with both of them, uncomfortable at the smell and feel of hurt that lingered in the both of them at how their Alpha apparently treated them differently. Boyd and Allison simply refused to speak.

Lydia grabbed Derek in the middle of Erica and Isaac’s recounting of the time he and Stiles snuck off when the pack had dinner in some fancy-schmancy restaurant and were almost caught making out in the bathroom. Lydia snarled at anyone who attempted to follow them and made Derek drive them to her favorite restaurant. After ordering drinks and a meal Derek was sure they weren’t going to eat, Lydia gave him a soft, albeit sad, smile.

“Your amnesia is not your fault, Derek. It’s not your fault and we all know that.”

“I just want to know,” Derek said softly.

Lydia placed a hand over his arm. “We know. And we’re not saying it’s a bad thing Derek, but don’t use it to build your life and make your decisions for you. It’s true that we all remember a ‘you’ that is not the you anymore, and we’ll tell you everything you don’t remember if you want us to, but you don’t have to, shouldn’t have to, live up to that. Don’t think you owe us anything, Derek.” She gave him a look. “And most of all, don’t feel like you owe Stiles anything.”

Derek rubbed his face, confused, pained, and conflicted in equal measures.

The more Derek realized how _lost_ he is, the more he realized that his apparent anchor, his pack, was maybe possibly not his anchor after all. And the more his wolf realized that _mate_ was actually possible, had actually _happened_ , the more Derek wanted to find himself. He had to find a way to bridge that gap, to try and see who he was or is or should be.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he said. Lydia looked pained at the admission.

“I know, Derek,” she said. “But Stiles would never ask this of you. And you’ll hurt him more by pretending.”

The meal came and they both pick at it, obviously without an appetite.

A thought struck Derek, sudden and blinding, and he couldn’t help clutching at his chest. He and Stiles had been together for a year and eight months since the Aberdeen explosion. If he added in how long he had lost his memory by now, then that meant…

“Lydia, when did we become us?”

It spoke volumes on how Lydia immediately understood. She gave him a smile, sad but not patronizing.

“Remember that night with the vampires? That would have been your second year together.”

-

Stiles resumed going to the Hale house regularly then, not just to look after the pack, but also to occasionally drop by the guest room, systematically disposing of the items and memories. Better to flay himself, suffer heartache, and burn the memories now than to prolong it.

It was a Friday night when Stiles got a text from Derek asking him to go to the house. It was a bit odd, considering Friday night was always pack night, but he figured Derek just wanted to make sure Stiles was coming despite everything that happened between them, or rather everything that apparently _didn’t_ happen between them.

Stiles clutched his rings to calm himself and then pasted a smile on his face as he used his key to enter the house. When he got inside, the place was almost completely silent.

“…Derek?”

“Kitchen.”

Stiles followed the soft sound of jazz and the sound of cooking and was met with the sight of Derek, barefooted and in his usual jeans and shirt, with an apron and standing over the stove.

“Dinner?” Derek asked, looking over his shoulder to flash Stiles a small smile.

Stiles ignored the way his heart stuttered and nodded slowly, “Um, sure? Er… just us?”

“Just us. Everyone’s out for the night,” Derek said, moving over to the counter where he chopped up vegetables.

Stiles’ head was whirring. “I… I’m sorry but I’m… I’m confused.”

Derek’s shoulders tensed just a tad. “…I wanted to talk to you.”

“About… about what?”

Derek shrugged, continuing on with the cooking. Stiles sat down slowly, enraptured by the sight. Derek found a love for cooking years back once things quieted down. Not only did it calm him, but it also satisfied some of his alpha instincts to know he was providing for his pack. Many a time was the entire pack squeezed inside the kitchen, watching and salivating as Derek cooked them a meal. Stiles, on the other hand, had always been the official taste tester of Derek’s dishes even before they became a couple, though back then it was more like he forced Derek into letting him. After they came together though, he also became the subject of Derek’s more grandiose dishes, being spoiled to death with the best meals.

This was the first time Derek cooked a meal since his amnesia and seeing him now, moving through the kitchen so graceful and easy and familiar, it made Stiles’ heart clench. Even more so when he realized Derek was making chicken and mushrooms, with sweet potato, and steamed vegetables. This was the first meal he cooked for Stiles as his boyfriend.

Stiles had to bite back a sob because no one knew about this, only him and Derek. And to think that Derek thought about making _this_ meal in particular…

Stiles gripped his knees and took a deep breath as he tried to remember that this was not Derek, not his Derek.

“I asked the pack,” Derek said, voice soft. “About us.”

There was no more _us_.

“What about us?” he asked instead.

Derek leaned back against the counter and Stiles saw it, the dark circles under his eyes that spoke of restlessness and lack of sleep, and the undertones of red in his green irises that spoke of Derek’s wolf’s agitation.

Derek licked his lips, before speaking in a voice so soft that Stiles almost missed it. “Everyone said… everyone said we were good together.”

“We were,” Stiles said automatically. He paused. He should kick himself. “I mean, we still are, Derek.”

“We were better before.”

Stiles shook his head. “You can’t think of it like that Derek. There’s only you and now.”

Derek bared his teeth, eyes flashing red, his anger clearly directed towards himself. “I don’t want this if the me that’s here now is the one who’s hurting you.”

Stiles’ felt emotions clogging his throat. He watched as Derek visibly steeled himself, clearing his throat before talking.

“I care about you, Stiles. A lot. A lot more that it… I’m confused.” He sighed. “Things are making more sense now since the time I woke up. I… I don’t eat the marshmallows in my Froot Loops cereal and now I know it’s because you like them and we end up switching cereals before we finish breakfast. I keep staring at my bookshelves wondering why something’s missing but when I saw the books in your room, I feel like I remember how we talked about sharing the best ones. I know how you like your coffee. I know you like listening to jazz because it helps you relax. I know your smell better than anybody in the pack, sometimes better than my own.” His voice dropped low. “I know your heartbeat, Stiles. I could hear you in the back of my head before I even realized it was yours.”

Stiles felt himself shaking under Derek’s gaze, serious and full of emotion.

This was too much. He couldn’t. No. No more.

Derek stepped towards him. “I don’t know you, Stiles, but at the same time I _know_ you. And I know it’s unfair that I’m asking this of you but you’re…” He looked stricken, croaking out, “I don’t know who I am anymore and you’re the biggest part of me.”

Stiles felt his tongue stumbling in his mouth. “I don’t… What are you saying?”

Derek reached over slow and unsure. Stiles almost cried at the feel of Derek’s loved, warm palm over his hand.

“I fell in love with you once, Stiles. It can happen again.”

Stiles looked up at him, eyes watery.

_What if it doesn’t happen again? What if you can’t? What if you don’t want to? What if you…_

But no matter how hard Stiles tried to not be selfish, he couldn’t help being _greedy_ this time. For once. Stiles reached up with his free hand, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes.

He would take whatever he could get.

“Ok then,” Stiles said, taking a shaky breath and knowing his eyes were probably red-rimmed right about now. “If you’re willing to saddle yourself with me, mister, I don’t want to hear any complaining. Get back to your cooking before you burn something.”

Derek smiled and in that moment, it was like everything was as it was meant to be.

-

Everything changed after that.

Now that Derek knew just how much he was allowed, things became so much easier and so much better. He was free to touch, free to come closer, free to follow the instincts to feel and care, free to do anything and everything.

Derek enjoyed Stiles’ humor and banter and wit, loved how it matched his own, how easily they fought and teamed up, like perfect partners in a dance. He loved how easily Stiles showed how much he cared for his pack and for Derek and his wolf, cooking, cleaning, cracking jokes, giving gifts, ready for a hug or a shoulder or a listening ear. He could see how easily the pack settled down, calmer, more together, happier at seeing and feeling how happy their Alpha and Stiles were.

For the first time in the eight months since he lost his memory, Derek felt his wolf settle easier under his skin, content and at peace with the feeling of love and home.

He couldn’t quite remember whose idea it was but some weeks later, he found himself at Jungle, surrounded by pack and loud music.

“Come on, Derek!” Erica said, pulling his arm. She was already tipsy after that concoction Lydia added to all the weres’ drinks. “Let’s dance!”

And while Derek complained and glared and tried to dig his heels or stand stock still, he couldn’t help giving in, half-drunk on the feeling of pack. He danced with Erica two more times, did a sloppy, fun three-way shuffle with Allison and Lydia, and dipped a giggling Kira. He tucked a very-drunk Scott, a half-awake Isaac, and an unconscious Jackson into one of the booths, placing several bottles of water in front of them, helped Boyd calm down a very handsy Erica, kept Stiles away from too much liquor, and even managed to wingman a good guy for Danny.

Derek was dancing around with the girls when he noticed that Stiles was a little ways away, eyes closed, long limbs in the air, awkward as always but ever endearing. He was standing at the edge of their little pack circle and was apparently swept off by the crowd. Derek weaved between bodies and limbs, easily slotting himself against Stiles’ back, arms easily wrapping around his narrow waist and placing twined hands on top of his abdomen.

“Where are you going?” Derek asked, chuckling.

Stiles looked back at him, eyes glazed, a flush evident across his cheeks and down his neck, his mouth half-open as he took in gulps of air. As much as Derek had tried to keep him away, it was obvious Stiles found some more drinks somewhere.

“Derek,” Stiles said, amber eyes brightening. One hand immediately reached around to grip Derek’s hip, pulling them closer together.

Derek couldn’t deny him even if he tried, fingers of one hand curling around Stiles’ hip and the other fanning out over his abdomen, legs shifting on either side so that his entire front was plastered to Stiles’ back. Stiles’ other hand reached around to the back of Derek’s head, fingers clutching his hair. Derek jerked a little, his wolf rumbling at the utterly perfect fit of their bodies, the steadily-growing warmth between them, and the heat coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“Dance with me, Derek.” Stiles’ voice was low and tinged with what could only be arousal. Derek could feel himself twitch in his jeans.

And they danced.

Derek held on, hips flushed against Stiles’ and following his easy motions. Their bodies rocked together and Derek could only marvel at the rhythm that came to him, as automatic and easy as breathing. His hand slipped under Stiles’ shirt, groaning at the feel of warm _familiar_ skin. Stiles huffed in laughter and tilted his head back, submissive as can be with the expanse of his long, gorgeous neck on display. With his hand in Derek’s hair, he guided Derek down, letting the wolf press lips and tongue against the skin. A low rumble thrummed through Derek’s chest to Stiles’ back and Stiles moaned, hips bucking against air and sending Derek’s hand lower until Derek was stroking the hairs below his navel.

“Stiles…” Derek whispered, lips brushing against skin as he traced a path from his neck to his jaw to his ear. “Stiles…”

Stiles turned around in his arms, pressing them together. Derek groaned at the hard line of Stiles’ cock through his jeans. Stiles pressed his face to the crook of Derek’s neck, arms going around him and gripping his shoulders. His breath was sticky-sweet against Derek’s skin, a mix of arousal and beer.

Derek hauled him even closer, pushing a thigh between Stiles’ legs, smirking at Stiles’ shudder and exhale of breath as he rocked his cock against Derek’s firm thigh. Stiles wasn’t kissing his neck so much as mouthing it and Derek had both hands on his ass helping the slow undulation of his rocking hips.

It was a heady feeling and Derek could himself slowly sinking into a euphoric haze from Stiles’ comforting scent and his familiar heartbeat. If this was how it felt to be with Stiles, to want him, to desire everything of him, to have him, a sweet flame burning him inside and out, he didn’t want it to stop.

It was the best feeling in the world.

Stiles pressed even closer to him and Derek felt it, something hard poking against his chest, like twin circles.

It came to his lips, sudden and unbidden, unfamiliar-familiar words somehow falling from his tongue.

“My Red, my heart.”

Stiles froze completely, for just a second, before Derek felt the jolt in Stiles’ body and found his own mouth ravaged. Stiles cupped his face with both hands, his perfect mouth pressed to Derek’s in a bruising kiss and a soft sob coming from his throat.

“My Derek, my Alpha, my wolf,” Stiles whispered, pressing harder and harder kisses against his lips. His voice was choked up, his entire form trembling, his breathing was shaky, and his heartbeat was so loud and so fast. Derek had to kiss him back, just as hard, just as wanting, his wolf whining at the mixed feelings of elation and arousal and panic.

Stiles leaned back and their eyes met. The lust and love cleared from Stiles’ eyes in a second and, in the most horrible moment in Derek’s life, Stiles looked absolutely _destroyed_.

The next thing Derek knew, Stiles was stepping back, arms wrapping around himself, looking at Derek with tears in his eyes.

“I.. I thought you’d… I should have known you still don’t…” He pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes and sobbed.

Despite the noise and the music and mass of dancing bodies around them, it felt like things had quieted down in Derek’s head, like he and Stiles were the only two people in his world, a world that’s slowly crashing down around him.

Stiles looked at him and Derek felt like he was gutted and bleeding out.

“I can’t do this anymore, Derek.”

And just like that, Stiles was gone.

-

Stiles found himself at the Hale house a few weeks after, the first time he’s been there in a while. He couldn’t come back after what happened at the club, too tired and hurting and broken. No one in the pack called him out on it though especially because, according to Danny, everyone had clearly seen what happened between him and Derek.

If Stiles closed his eyes, he could easily dredge up the feeling of being in Derek’s arms, surrounded by the man he loved and feeling wanted and cared for in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. He could remember Derek’s skin against his, his hands on his body, Derek’s gentle whisper of those four little words of love and adoration that he used to call Stiles back when…

Back when.

Stiles sighed, looking around his room in the Hale house, almost completely empty. Allison had rubbed off the mountain ash at some point and some of the pack had been kind enough to retrieve some of Stiles’ things from the house. All that’s left was to somehow leave it all behind.

Stiles sat down on his bed and reached inside his shirt, pulling out their engagement rings. They were smooth silver bands, nothing fancy, with black lining and carved silver triskelions on the inside. They rings were Hale family heirlooms remade into something simpler to fit the both of them. Derek had told him about them, how usually it was the grandparents in their family that passed it on to their grandchildren in a never-ending cycle, how Derek’s maternal grandparents favored him and had kept their rings in a safety deposit box left specifically for him until he found someone to give it to, could remember Derek proposing to him on their first year anniversary and Stiles’ immediate ‘yes’ because the both of them already knew that they were one another’s forever after.

Stiles wasn’t surprised when he saw familiar feet stand in front of him. He came in knowing no one was at home but he knew Derek would somehow know he was here.

Derek fell to his knees in front of him, clutching at Stiles’ wrists with shaking hands as he looked at the matching rings on his palms.

Derek’s voice was tight and pained. “We were…”

“Engaged,” Stiles said softly. “The first in the pack. We beat Jackson and Lydia by a week.” He looked up.

Derek’s face turned into an angry kind of desperation. “WHY?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!” And then his expression just _broke_. “I would have… I would have tried harder. I would have… I would have done something.” He curled into himself, pressing his forehead to Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles closed his eyes. He was too tired to cry. “Because I know you, Derek. I know you care about me, but you don’t love me that way. At least, not yet. Maybe not ever.” He ignored his own hitch in breath and Derek’s pained whine. “And I don’t want to force you into this, Derek. I would never, ever make you do something you didn’t want. We have to stop this. We have to stop pretending.”

Stiles reached out, making Derek look him in the eye. He thumbed away the tears clinging to those beautiful eyes.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep hoping and trying and then feel like he’s losing Derek all over again every time he looked at him and realized it wasn’t his Derek.

“I can’t… I can’t keep losing you, Derek. It hurts too much,” Stiles whispered.

Derek opened his mouth but Stiles just pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“I love you so much. I will always love you.”

He pressed the rings into Derek’s hands and with one last kiss to Derek’s cheek, Stiles walked away.

-

Derek’s entire world was ripped apart, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

He didn’t know how long he sat there on the floor, how long before Erica and Lydia found him and gently dragged him to bed and curled around him, how long before the rest of the pack joined in. He didn’t know how many times he drifted in and out of sleep, how many times Danny and Isaac made him sit up, wiped at his skin with a damp cloth and helped him change clothes, how many times Allison or Boyd came in with a tray of food, coaxed him to take just a few teeny bites or a few sips, even a little, how many times Kira sat beside him on the bed and read to him for hours on end, how many times Jackson and Scott would watch TV in his room and randomly comment about this show or that.

It could have been days, weeks.

It was one late afternoon, after he took two bites of toast and a sip of juice for Allison, when Derek looked at his fist, his fingers cramped up with how long he’s had it closed but not entirely painful thanks to his wolf healing. This was the first time he even looked at it. He didn’t want to open his hand. He didn’t want to see it.

But on that day, he did.

He opened his hand.

He remembered the exact days when his memory ended and started.

_Derek was out on a run, in a fit of pique after his umpteenth argument with Stiles regarding Danny’s addition to the pack. Stiles had listed Derek more than a dozen reasons why Danny would be helpful and welcome and perfect, ranging from being Jackson’s best friend to his helpful computer skills. Stiles’ obvious affection for Danny had sent Derek’s temper flaring, more so ever since he found out Stiles and Danny had a thing months prior. He didn’t care if it was more friendly than romantic, that it lasted barely a month, that they didn’t actually do anything more than kiss as his sense of smell or as Scott and Erica repeatedly told him, didn’t realize that the fire in his gut was more jealousy than anything else._

_So Derek sought to hurt, made an offhanded comment about Stiles being so desperate to bring his fuck buddy into things. Stiles immediately punched him, hurting his hand more than Derek’s face, but definitely bruising Derek’s ego and earning him the anger of his pack._

_By the time he got back to the Hale house, none of the pack was talking to him and Stiles was gone. His room was a mess, his closet thrown open and half-empty, his laptop and pillow gone, and Derek felt like he was punched in the gut._

_But he only stalked to his room, pretending not to care, and slipped into his bed like a chastised toddler. He could hear the pack already eating downstairs and obviously no one was planning to invite him._

_Derek reached under his pillow, pulling out something he had gotten from his late grandparent’s safety deposit box months prior during a sudden trip to New York._

_Their wedding rings._

_Derek’s wolf thought of Stiles._

_Derek only scoffed. Impossible._

_He fell asleep, his fist curled tight around the rings._

_When he woke up the next day, there were no rings in his hand and Stiles was suddenly beside him, gripping said hand tightly, eyes red-rimmed with worry; Stiles, who was his friend and ally and a constant pain in his ass; Stiles, who he last remembered punching him in the face after Derek acted like a total dick to him._

Derek was jarred awake then, the rings in his hand, his breath hitching in his throat and his heart beating fast. His head was swimming with what he had seen and in that moment he felt the sudden surge in his mind, wave after wave of emotions, and faces, and scents, and experiences, and seconds, minutes, hours, months, so fast that he had to remember to breathe at the onslaught his mind tried to process. It wasn’t just a trickle of images but a burst of _so much_ replaying in his head.

He couldn’t be sure it was everything though. Some of it was still far out of his grasp, still nonsense in the greater context of what he knew, with what he had yet to learn. It could take him weeks, months, to recover everything, if he ever would.

But his wolf could feel it, whining high and clawing excitedly at how everything was _still_ coming to him, still waiting for him to curl his claws around them and know the things his mind didn’t but his heart and soul did.

So Derek curled his fingers around his rings, taking strength, and closed his eyes.

And he dreamt.

-

Stiles stretched his hands in the air, working out the kinks on his back and shoulders. He loved being at home with his Dad and Melissa and while they had reassured him that they didn’t mind him living with them, it didn’t feel right to impose. That’s why he just came from apartment-hunting with Lydia, who made no mention of anything else other than the task at hand. He was also looking forward to the month-long seminar overseas that the university was sponsoring and how he was eligible to go.

He hung up his jacket and after gulping down a glass of water, he made his way up to his room. He wasn’t hungry or in the mood to watch TV. He wanted to take a shower and then a nap. That’s all he did now, watch TV, sleep, and eat. It did nothing to take away the hollow feeling in his chest and the tingling sensation of emptiness in his left hand, but it was better than nothing.

He pulled out a pamphlet before tossing his bag on the bed. He made to place it on the table with all the other apartment flyers and brochures he and Lydia had been reading through and the filer for the seminar and required paperwork.

But everything was missing.

Stiles frowned, looking around. He saw all of them stuffed into the trash bin.

“What the hell?”

Stiles looked back at his table, finally seeing a little blue envelope. He tossed the pamphlet aside and picked it up, curious and angry. He pulled out a note and saw familiar blocky handwriting. His heartbeat immediately picked up.

_‘My Stiles, my Red, my heart, the only one I’ll ever love…’_

Stiles couldn’t breathe. He hooked his fingers inside the envelope and pulled out a ring, his ring.

There was a noise behind him and he whipped around. Derek was standing at the door, dressed in the maroon sweater with the thumbholes that Stiles loved on him.

“I’m sorry I missed our anniversary,” Derek said, his voice soft and hesitant and terrified.

Stiles looked into his eyes, that mix of beautiful and breathtaking green-blue-black.

And he knew.

_His Derek._

Stiles collapsed where he stood. His hands gripped his ring tightly, tears of relief sprung into his eyes, and he let out wracking sobs. He felt Derek’s strong arms around him, pulling him onto his lap, one hand cradling the back of his skull, and the other stroking his back, could smell that hint of forest, rainstorm, and _home_ as he buried his face in Derek’s neck, could feel the warmth and strength and _love_ pouring off Derek in waves.

God, he missed this. He missed him so much.

Stiles felt Derek’s hand in his and looked down to see Derek slot the ring in its rightful place in his left hand, could see its twin on Derek’s own finger. And Stiles wept harder.

“I love you,” Derek whispered, voice hoarse and pained. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Stiles. I love you. Always. Forever. And I’m so sorry.”

“You’re back. You came back to me, Derek. That’s all that matters.” Stiles clung to him. He had no plans on ever letting go.

Ten long months. But it didn’t matter now.

Derek was back.

His Derek, his Alpha, his wolf, the love of his life was finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> I was so tempted to actually not bring back Derek’s memories or wait until the two and a half year mark when Derek’s memories finally healed, but I’m a sucker for the romance and the reunion and I think ten months was already a long time for their suffering. I didn’t want them hurting anymore. Anyway, in my head, the power of love conquers all and helped Derek get his memories back. I don’t know. I am a fail.
> 
> Hope you liked it.


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